


lucky to be

by abovetheruins



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: picfor1000, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3428756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Cook is ridiculously infatuated with his keyboardist. This is a problem, until it isn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lucky to be

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the picfor1000 challenge. Apologies if the ending seems rushed, the 1000-word limit was more of a challenge than I thought! 
> 
> My inspiration pic is [here](https://www.flickr.com/photos/joethorn/199603599/in/photostream/lightbox/).

The bar is called _The One Way_ , and it’s one of those hole-in-the-wall joints that you wouldn’t even notice unless you were really looking for it. It’d been a spur of the moment addition to their long list of tour stops, and the resulting crowd isn’t as large as he’s used to. Dave doesn’t mind though – he likes the looks of the place, the dim lighting and cramped stage, barely any space between the tables. It makes everything feel close, intimate, and it reminds him of the small crowds they used to play to, before the Anthemic made the transition from small town band to selling out venues across the nation.

The size of the crowd, filling the bar but not over capacity, and the soft rays of the overhead lights combine to create a mellow atmosphere that Dave sorely needs, particularly after spending a couple of months confined to a bus with the object of his affections.

_Must have been born under a bad sign_ , he thinks uncharitably, rolling his mic between his hands as he waits for the guys to ready themselves for the next number. Devin’s off to his right, guitar at the ready, Monty on his other side, Nick on the drums, and by his side Archie waits, fingers poised above the keyboard, his eyes on Dave.

It’s pathetic, the effect that gaze has on him, the way it makes his fingers itch, his brain go absolutely stupid, all of his clever words and flirtatious innuendos right out the fucking window any time the kid so much as turns those hazel eyes his way.

And Archie _is_ a kid, practically, though – as his mind treacherously reminds him – well above legal age. He’s still eight years Dave’s junior, still innocent in a way Dave doesn’t want to mess with, despite having the kind of real world experience that would cripple a lesser man.

They’d been introduced while Dave was working on his latest album. He’d needed a pianist and his manager had been the one to find Archie, who had waltzed into the recording booth and blown the competition out of the fucking water with his skillful playing, his long, slender fingers raising beautiful melody after melody from the ivory keys. 

Dave hadn’t known what to make of him at first, hadn’t known how he’d fit in with the rest of the band, with his ‘oh gosh’s and modest clothing, but the rest of the guys had taken to him easily, and it took only a few weeks in his presence for Dave to realize David Archuleta – “Or, you can call me Archie? To cut down on confusion.” – was actually a funny, witty young man, not to mention ridiculously good-looking. 

Dave had tried to ignore his attraction to the talented twenty-four year old, especially as their connection transitioned from bandmate to friend. Archie was – well, amazing, honestly. He’d told Dave late one night after a jam session about his past, a paralyzed vocal cord putting an end to his singing career. He wasn’t resentful about it, just grateful that he’d still been able to keep music in his life even if it wasn’t in quite the way he had wanted it, and the urge Dave had felt to press his fingertips against the expanse of Archie’s throat that night had both surprised and terrified him.

Falling for your bandmate was a huge mistake, but it wasn’t like Dave’s heart or libido or whatever it was that was so infatuated with Archie would listen to reason.

And as he belts out _Wicked Game_ for the crowd, Archie in his peripheral vision the entire time, he feels the words down to his bones, _I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you_. 

Afterwards he has to escape, dodging excited fans long enough to duck into the cramped back area of the bar and out the back door. The cool midwinter air makes him gasp as it hits his unprotected skin, cooling the sweat on his brow and filling his lungs with each crisp, cold breath. He slumps against the alley wall, the bricks icy through the thin material of his vest and undershirt, and presses his hands to his knees.

_Get a fucking grip, Dave_ , he tells himself, and barely notices as the backdoor opens behind him. 

Warm fingers against the bare skin of his arm make him jump; he jerks his head up and nearly groans aloud as Archie’s face fills his vision, the younger man’s brows furrowed in concern.

“Are you alright, Cook?” he asks, his breath misting in the cold air, and Dave honestly doesn’t know what the fuck to say.

_I’m a fucking mess because of you_.

_You’re making me crazy_.

_I think I’m in love with you_.

The words stick in his throat, and jesus, how ironic is that, the self-proclaimed ‘word nerd’ unable to utter a single sentence in the presence of his oblivious keyboardist. 

“I’m fine, Arch,” he finally manages to choke out, wishing he would have just stayed in the bar, craving some liquid courage to dull the edge of his stupid inappropriate urgings. “Let’s go back in, okay? We should – “

He freezes as long fingers slide over his skin, warm palms cupping his cheeks and lifting his head. He feels his face flush, his cheeks hot beneath his scruff, as Archie’s eyes meet his, and he leans into the touch without thinking, his guard fucking obliterated by Archie’s sweet, gentle smile.

“Arch,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse. “What are you – ?”

Soft lips press against his own, chaste but for the quick swell of Arch’s tongue against his ( _holy shit_ ), and as Archie pulls back, his smile sure but a little wary, Dave swallows. 

“Holy shit,” he mumbles, awed.

Archie tilts his head. “Is that good or… ?”

Dave laughs, loud and carefree, and reaches for his keyboardist.

Before he reels Arch back in for another kiss, he thinks, _Not so unlucky after all_.

Then he stops thinking altogether.


End file.
